


Order (Try Me)

by ChampagneSly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bartender AU, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred's the hottest bartender in town. Arthur likes what he has on order. </p><p>Flirtation, libations, fornication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Francis, you can quit making eyes at me. Even your baby blues aren’t getting you served faster,” Alfred said with a snap of his fingers and the wicked smile he knew Francis liked, hoping it would smooth Francis’ ruffled feathers at having to wait his turn to place his order. Francis fluttered his eyelashes and sighed dramatically, waving him off. Alfred laughed and poured a measure of bitters into the shaker, giving his second-favorite regular a wink and a lick of the lips. “You wouldn’t want to rush art, now would you?”

“If it gets me a taste of your cock-tail down my throat, I’m happy to wait as long as you need, precious.” Francis leered, indulging in his favorite past-time of making drinking obscene.

“Always so generous, Francis!” Alfred gave him a little show in return, flexing his arm beneath the starched white of his button-up, bicep stretching the old-timey sleeve garter Matthew insisted really sold the vibe of the Libertine Lounge. Alfred wasn’t crazy about admitting that his little brother occasionally had good ideas, but even he had to admit that he liked the bootlegger look--and damned if he didn’t know how to work it.

“Flirtation will get you everywhere,” Francis said merrily, resting his chin on his hand and staring shamelessly at Alfred’s bottom when he stood on his toes to reach for the bottle of his favorite aged bourbon.

“Who’s flirting? I’m just here to pour drinks, listen to tales of wonder and woe, and go home with a pocket full of tips.” Alfred said, happily lying through his teeth because he loved to play innocent little games with all the ladies and gentlemen who warmed his bar-stools.

“Less bullshit and more booze, if you please, my darling.” Francis arched an elegant brow and drummed his fingers on the shiny black bar that Alfred polished every night.

Alfred was about to give Francis another shot of his winning smile and devastating wit, an excellent retort ready to trip off his tongue, but as he took the order for a French 75 an unfamiliar face settled next to Francis’ all too familiar slouch. Alfred swallowed his taunt and went instead on a charm offensive, always ready to win the hearts and wallets of new customers. Francis smirked and tapped his watch with a manicured finger, pantomiming his apparently desperate need for Alfred’s  services.

Ignoring Francis’ antics, Alfred gave the newcomer a quick, sunny smile of welcome and left them to peruse the chalkboard of cocktails and wines by the glass. He took a measure of gin and a splash of lemon while taking his time to surreptitiously check out the man who was not so surreptitiously checking him out. The attention made him smile just a little wider, made him bend just a little deeper to grab Francis’ preferred brand of champagne, because Alfred figured it was never too early to start making the customer happy. Happy customers who liked what Alfred had on offer—stiff drinks that tasted smooth and charming conversation that sounded good—those customers tipped nicely and told their friends about the swell new bar in town.

Well-dressed and weary in that 5:30pm on weekday way, Alfred pegged the man with the appreciative eyes but the skeptical frown as an office-escapee. Alfred had always liked the post-work crowd, free with their wallets and creative with their orders in their need for a little bit of buzz to dull the edges of too many emails or too little compensation. He finished off Lord Bonnefoy’s beverage with a generous splash of champagne and an extra twist of lemon to cut the sugar of the simple syrup.

“One French 75, just the way you like it!” Alfred said, setting down a white napkin with the cute little Libertine Lounge logo to serve as the pedestal for his fizzy masterpiece.

“My hero!” Francis curled his fingers around the stem and lifted his glass in a cheers, making noises better suited for late-night scrambled television than a bar when he finally took a sip. “Divine as always.”

“It can’t possibly be that good,” The new guy with the eyebrows and rather appealing accent scoffed, casting a critical gaze at Alfred.

Alfred laughed and leaned against the bar, giving the Doubting Thomas his most shameless grin. He’d always loved a tough customer. “Didn’t you see the sign out front? Says we’ve got the best drinks in town.”

“And Lovino’s Pizza claims it has the best pie in town. As does Feliciano’s By-the-Slice.” The man said dryly, fiddling with the ends of his tie and averting his gaze to the drink menu that loomed large over Alfred’s head.

“Your point being?” Alfred asked, splaying his broad hands on the bar and stealing back green eyed attention.

The man smiled faintly and arched his brow. “Anyone with a sandwich board or a printer can claim to be the best.”

Alfred laughed brightly, snapping his fingers and conceding, “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that!” He winked and lowered his voice, leaning in just a little closer, “Thing is, I can prove it.”

“Indeed he can!” Francis interjected helpfully, licking the last of his drink from his lips and giving Alfred a sly smile that didn’t always bode well for business. “I can vouch from personal experience that Alfred is…exceptional at what he does.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Alfred said, rolling his eyes at Francis before reconsidering. He really was pretty damned good. “Actually, do. I make a mean drink.”

The man favored him with a wry smirk, cheeks pinking a little as he said, “You’ll forgive me if I feel the need to test your…exceptionalism…for myself.”

“Everyone wants a taste of Alfred’s talents,” Francis teased, pushing his empty glass forward and sighing, “That’s why this little hovel is always so busy and it is so very difficult to get my needs adequately met.”

“OK, this time definitely do NOT listen to him!” Alfred declared, voice breaking over laughter as he ignored Francis’ pout and gave a tequila-sunrise smile to his seemingly unflappable new customer. “So, what’s your poison?”

“Something classic,” The man mused, not so subtly shifting away from Francis as he tapped a finger to his chin and met Alfred’s expectant, interested stare. “Something that’s a true test of any good bartender, I should think.”

“I’m not so sure why you want to make me prove my mettle, but I do love a challenge,” Alfred said just lowly enough to twist his words with innuendo.

“If you advertise your skills, you had best be prepared to be put to the test,” The man murmured and Alfred thought his voice sounded just like Scotch on the rocks, smooth with just enough fire to burn.

“Can’t disagree with that…” Alfred trailed off, hoping for the name of his biggest detractor.

“Arthur.” Arthur held out his hand and Alfred took it with a smile, reintroducing himself while Francis pretended not to look on with avid interest.

Alfred let go of a firm grip that came with the kind of nice skin that spoke of days spent at a computer. He nodded his head towards the shelves of shining liquor and grinned, “So, Arthur. What’s your order?”


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred had never been one to doubt his many talents, but when Arthur “put up or shut-up” strolled into the Libertine Lounge for the second time in less than three days, it was unexpectedly gratifying. The sight of him, a little more rumpled and a lot more relaxed, eyebrows already furrowed and body already arching towards the salvation of the barstool was like the salted tang of an olive plucked from the bottom of what had been a damned good martini. Alfred rolled his tongue around the taste of small victories and smiled. Arthur gave him a faint smirk in return and then ignored Alfred in favor of the chalked out menu, critical and pretty gaze tracing the scrawled lines of Mattie’s writing advertising Alfred’s latest strokes of genius.   
  
Alfred hummed under his breath and left Arthur to his deliberate evasion, happy enough to be gracious in the wake of Arthur’s obvious, unspoken concession that Alfred Jones made the best drinks in this no-consequence town. He could afford to be generous because Arthur had returned, with wallet in his back pocket and a drink order on his lips, and Alfred wanted to hear that order. He wanted to slide dollar bills warmed by Arthur’s body into his own pocket, each one a little reparation.   
  
It was a Wednesday night, late enough that home was all that was left on most people’s to-do lists, the bar empty but for Mattie’s sweet-faced admirer and a couple of her friends. Wingwomen, whatever—point was that the afterwork crowd had dissipated and the weekend was still too many 9-5’s away for the close-out crew to linger at the bar and spend their hard earned money right into Alfred and Matthew’s till. Because there were no drinks to be poured and because Arthur was still resolutely staring at anything but Alfred, Alfred pushed a pairing knife through a fresh lemon and watched Arthur not watching him and wondered. He didn’t know much about Arthur beyond his name, the color of his eyes, and the way he liked his Manhattans, but Alfred made a living learning people in the space of transactions, so he settled in and took a real good look at his now-repeat customer.   
  
Alfred pulled the pageboy cap from his head and set it on the smooth polish of the bar, figuring it was too late to be fussed with the flatness of his hair, and liking the way Arthur’s gaze finally snapped from the cocktail menu to the spread of Alfred’s fingers. Arthur’s tie was loosened and his cheeks were flushed like maybe this wasn’t his first stop of the evening, but his shoulders were still tense, like maybe that first stop had been for business. There was a barely-there fleck of brown sauce on his shirtsleeve, the corner of a bent card peeking out from his shirt-pocket, and Alfred figured it was high time he poured the tired man bellying up to his bar a drink for pleasure.   
  
“Evening.” Alfred offered with a slow smile, twirling the cap on his index finger and watching the slide of Arthur’s gaze from the bar-top, to his chest, to the knowing welcome of his grin. Arthur’s eyebrow lifted, which was apparently his subtle way of telling Alfred how happy he was to be graced with Alfred’s presence once more. Alfred rolled his shoulders and nodded his head towards the endless glittering rows of liquor, “Guess my Manhattans passed your very special Bar Exam.”   
  
“You made that one drink very well,” Arthur acknowledged, emphasizing 'one' like Alfred was some kind of one-trick pony that got lucky. Arthur’s fingers tangled in a tie that didn’t seem to want to come off, stuck beneath the wilted folds of Arthur’s collar.   
  
“Try not to bowl me over with faint praise,” Alfred laughed, reaching across the bar to tug the stubborn tie loose, taking liberties he probably shouldn’t take by letting the pad of his thumb brush against the warmth of Arthur’s throat.   
  
“I’ll leave that to your simpering boyfriend.” Arthur muttered, eying him suspiciously as he snatched the tie from Alfred’s hand.    
  
“Boyfriend?” Alfred asked, amused by and not a little interested in the flush that crept up Arthur’s throat.   
  
“The one with the funny accent and the lewd mouth.” Arthur popped the top buttons or his collar and sighed like there was no greater relief than being rid of the trappings of work.   
  
“Ooooh,” Alfred said, tapping his chin and winking, “You mean Francis.” Arthur scowled and shrugged like he didn’t give two shits. Alfred laughed and shook his head, “Nah, man. Francis might be the biggest flirt in town, possibly this side of the Mississippi, but he’s not my boyfriend. He just likes to butter me up because he thinks I’ll make his drinks stronger if he pays me a little attention.”   
  
“And does it work?” Arthur smirked. Alfred liked the way his tongue touched the corner of his lips, a tiny flicker of temptation.   
  
Alfred smiled and leaned in closer, “If I’m feeling generous.” He let just a little bit of invitation color his words, taking a page from the Book of Bonnefoy as he murmured, “So, what can I get for you tonight, Arthur? What’s your pleasure?”  
  
“I wonder.” Arthur said roughly, holding Alfred’s gaze before he blinked once, twice, and rubbed his hand over his stubbled cheek. “A Sidecar, if you please.”   
  
“Mmm, you do like the classics,” Alfred said, cracking his knuckles and tilting his head towards the wall of cognacs. “I appreciate that.”   
  
Arthur shrugged like he didn’t give a damn what Alfred appreciated, but his voice was warm when he rolled his shoulders and demanded, “And be sure to use Cointreau, no cut-rate Grand Marnier.”

  
“Someone fancies themselves an expert!” Alfred teased, already reaching behind him for the square bottle of liquor that smelled like oranges and burned so sweet on the tongue. He peered over his shoulder as he curled steady fingers around the Remy, intending to spoil Arthur with the good stuff. He made a little show as he picked up the shaker, flexing his arm and arching an eyebrow shameless enough to make even Francis blush. “I’m the best game in town, Artie, you don’t need to tell me how to shake it up just the way you like it.”   
  
“We’ll see about that.” Arthur gave him an unimpressed glare, but Alfred couldn’t mistake the amusement that softened the tension around his eyes.   
  
“You don’t like to make things easy on a guy, do you?” Alfred laughed, running the rim of the cocktail glass through sugar and then pouring, slowly, slowly, the richness of brandy and the bite of citrus that smelled good enough to make him want a little taste for himself.   
  
“Would you prefer that, prefer me to be easy?” Arthur smiled, a low, hot thing that curled in Alfred’s chest like too much gin. Arthur closed his eyes and took a sip, wetting his lips with a tongue that chased flecks of sugar and drops of liquor.   
  
“Maybe.” Alfred stared, waited until Arthur had swallowed and returned the green of his gaze to Alfred’s very interested eyes. He cleared his throat and splayed his hand over the cool surface of the bar, fingers tracing the edge of Arthur’s cocktail napkin. “But then again, I am but your humble barkeep, here to keep all my favorite customers happy.”   
  
Arthur considered him, took another sip. “I’ve already ascended the ranks of favorite?”   
  
“Sure, of course.” Alfred licked his lips and tore off a corner of the napkin, a little lost to be for once flirting for something other than tips and repeat visits. He laughed gently and straightened up, meeting Arthur’s curious expression, “What can I say? I like people who know what they like, but take their time to decide what they want. There’s just something about a man with discerning tastes.”   
  
“Is that so?” This time Arthur laughed, quiet and rough, like it was bubbling out of a forgotten place and Alfred liked the way his face suddenly looked young and sweet. “Well, then, perhaps I should come in more often, put you through your paces and make sure what you have on offer is up to my…standards. That is, if you think you’re up to the challenge.”   
  
“Baby,” Alfred leered, hooking his thumb between the buttons of his vest and preening, “You come on back anytime and I’ll gladly take anything you can dish out. I’m more than man enough to handle anything you’ve got to give.”  
  
“Right. Very good.” Arthur flushed and polished off the remainder of his drink in a single go.

Alfred wondered if he would be able to feel the burn of his liquor down Arthur's throat if he pressed his tongue to Arthur’s neck. Unlikely, but a goddamned good thought. Arthur wiped his mouth and Alfred wanted to catch the little piece of sugar at the corner of his lips. Arthur stood up and ran a hand through his hair, reaching for his wallet.   
  
Alfred shook his head and circled his fingers around Arthur’s wrist, murmuring, “That one’s on me.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed but his hand turned and clasped Alfred’s, fingers tangling for a fraction of a too short moment. Alfred rubbed his thumb over Arthur’s pulse and winked, “A little incentive to make sure you don’t back down from our little challenge.”   
  
“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll see me again,” Arthur murmured, stealing his hand from Alfred’s grasp and leaving him only a small smile that was full of intent as a tip.  
  
“I’ll keep the gin on ice just for you, sweetheart!” Alfred slid his pageboy hat over his messy hair, pushed his glasses up his nose and watched Arthur saunter out the door. He laughed, poured himself a shot of whiskey, and looked forward to more. 


	3. Chapter 3

Friday night and the Libertine Lounge was rocking and rolling just the way Alfred liked it—happy smiles and loose wallets everywhere, not a single open chair and warm, work-rumpled bodies shifting and squeezing their way up to the bar to wave their money and their thirsty expectations in the hopes of getting his attention. Friday nights were for jaunty fedoras and Old Blue Eyes crooning from the speakers while Mattie charmed his way through the crowd on the right and Alfred lined up a row of martini glasses to wow the throngs on the left with the cheap but sweet trick of filling each ice-cold rim up to the brim with pretty pinked vodka.   
  
It was a Cosmopolitan kind of life and a life that paid well in both “oohs and ahhs” and crisp twenty-dollar bills. Alfred loved Fridays, loved seeing the Lounge all full and frothy from the release of the pent-up workweek, customers getting more and more creative as the night got later and later until somehow absinthe and rye with a pinch of cane sugar sounded like just the ticket. He sunk cherries into the bottom of Old Fashioneds and splashed tequila over hills of ice, smiling for his admirers and chatting with his regulars while keeping an eye on the door and wondering if his new favorite face was going to make an appearance.   
  
But Alfred was a little too busy with the people in the here and now who were in need of a good drink and handsome face to spend more than ten seconds of every minute thinking about what Arthur’s mouth would taste like if he let Alfred kiss him with a tongue dipped in vodka.   
  
It wasn’t until his sleeves were rolled up and there was sweat starting to slip down his spine that Alfred chanced to look at his watch, saw it was ten o’clock and began to think maybe Arthur was going to stand him up. Of course, he knew that Arthur hadn’t said when he was going to come back and all Alfred had promised was to keep the gin real cold, but in the way Arthur had looked at him on Wednesday when Alfred’s thumb had been on Arthur’s happy racing pulse, he’d been sure he'd seen, “Soon isn’t soon enough,” in Arthur’s gaze. 

A couple of sliced lemons and handful of limes weathered his frustrations, juice dripping over his fingers and then into the bottom of yet another glass, but then Mattie was at his side, muttering, “Hey, switch sides with me.”   
  
Alfred dropped the knife and wiped his brow with his sleeve, confused by the interruption and the request, because little brother almost always liked things done just so and they’d been working Matthew-right and Alfred-left since they’d first thrown open the doors to the Libertine Lounge.   
  
“Kinda busy over here, Mattie.” Alfred said cheerfully, tipping the brim of his hat and catching his reflection in Matthew’s glasses. He had to admit he sort of liked the look. “What’s up?”  
  
Matthew swatted him with a bar-towel, apparently unimpressed by Alfred’s Sinatra swagger. “For one, Francis is on my end and he won’t stop making comments about my delectable derriere.”   
  
“Awww, does little brother need me to defend his virtue from the town’s determined flirt?” Alfred laughed and grabbed the towel, jerking Matthew towards him, amused and encouraged by the giggles of the three women waiting for Alfred to freshen up their glasses of Sauvignon Blanc.  
  
Matthew ignored him, because Matthew liked to pretend he was the bigger man or whatever, and stole the attention of Alfred’s lovely ladies with a smile that was sweet and thick like syrup. Alfred wanted to rub it off his face with the damned towel. He smirked at Alfred and shoved him away,  “Just leave me and my virtue right here to take care of these women in need of more wine. You go down there and put Bonnefoy in his place before the poor sap sitting next to him tears him a new one.”   
  
Alfred stuck out his tongue because he definitely wasn’t the bigger man. He had half a mind to accuse Matthew of wanting to switch just so he could flirt with someone who wasn’t perpetually tipsy, lewd, French, and irrevocably married. He snapped his hand to his forehead and saluted, willing to take one for the Jones-Williams team just this once.  “Yessir! Right away, sir!”  
  
Matthew rolled his eyes and turned to his stolen bevy of beauties, leaving Alfred to straighten his hat, tighten his tie and saunter down the right side of his bar.   
  
“Evening, Francis,” Alfred said warmly, hooking his finger around the stem of Francis’ empty champagne glass and tugging it away. “Causing trouble, I hear.”   
  
Francis sighed dramatically and pushed forward on the bar to brush his lips over Alfred’s cheek, murmuring wickedly, “I can hardly be faulted for wanting to appreciate the many charms of dear Matthew’s exceptional curvature.”   
  
Alfred made a gagging sound and shoved Francis back into his stool, “Please spare me your thoughts on my brother’s ass.”   
  
Francis smirked and tilted his head to the side, licking his lips obscenely, “Would you prefer that we talked about yours? It is nearly as nice as your brother’s.”   
  
“Nearly as nice? Come on now, Francis! Haven’t I always been good to you?” Alfred turned around and bent over, figuring there was always something he could pick-up from the bar-well, and if he happened to shake his hips just a little on the way down, well, that was neither here nor there.   
  
“Haven’t you always been good to whom?” An arch voice with a nice accent asked. Alfred’s spine snapped straight back up and turned his back right around so he could come face to face with the man he’d been waiting for since 10:45pm on Wednesday night. Arthur looked good in his green shirt with no tie, casual and polished in a way that suggested he had gone home first before coming here, before coming to Alfred with his tiny smirk and unwavering stare.   
  
Alfred grinned shamelessly, tossing a cocktail napkin on the bar and murmuring, “I’m always good to everyone, Artie. That’s my job.”   
  
Francis’ gaze darted from his face to Arthur’s, and Alfred knew he was in trouble when Francis smiled slyly and leaned in close to Arthur’s wary perch on the barstool. “And if you’ll let him, he’ll be good to you, too.”   
  
“Now, now, Francis. How many times do I have to tell you that your flattery stopped working on me about twenty bottles of brandy ago?” Alfred drawled, shaking his head and biting his lip to keep from laughing at Arthur’s muddled expression of annoyance, amusement, and maybe just a little bit of arousal--like he was thinking about all the many ways Alfred could to be good to him. Alfred licked the lip he’d pulled between his teeth to keep Arthur thinking those dirty thoughts, softening his voice as he leaned closer and asked, “So, what’s it gonna be tonight? Something sweet? Something strong?”   
  
Arthur smiled faintly in return, “A little bit of both, I should think. Perhaps another of those Sidecars.” He lowered his eyelashes and traced his fingers over the bar, playing coy and making Alfred feel warm and flush with anticipation. “Since it did go down so easily.”   
  
“Oh, honestly!” Francis tittered and ruined the moment. Alfred glared and Arthur snarled and Francis shrugged unrepentantly, “My darlings, you can hardly expect me to just let that go. The temptation is far too great!”   
  
Alfred rolled his eyes and gave Francis a brief introduction to his middle finger. Francis smiled and nipped at him until Arthur intervened, slapping Alfred’s hand away from Francis’ face and dragging his thumb over Alfred’s palm, pressing briefly between the splay of his fingers.   
  
“But I suppose I must approve! The Sidecar is such a fine French drink!” Francis said merrily, slinging an overly familiar arm around Arthur’s shoulders.  
  
“Wrong,” Arthur said smartly, ducking out from under Francis’ clutches. “Everyone knows the Sidecar is English. From Buck’s Club in London.”   
  
Francis scoffed, “My darling, if that is the case, your ‘everyone’ is incorrect because there is nothing English at all about a cocktail birthed at the Ritz in Paris. Am I not right, Alfred, darling?”   
  
Alfred’s laughter died in his throat as he was pinned in place by Francis’ expectant stare and the heavy raise of Arthur’s eyebrows. He ran his fingers over the rim of his fedora and scrambled for a way out, hemming and hawing until he settled on doing what he did best, distracting people with alcohol. He flexed his arms and leaned on the bar, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he gave his audience and slow smile and a suggestion, “How about we forget that and I give you both something good and American instead?”   
  
Arthur’s lips fell open and Alfred wanted to push over the bar and give him a taste right then and there, but Francis was laughing delightedly and reaching across to pat his cheek like he was a cute little dog that had just performed a trick. Francis was totally getting demoted on Alfred’s favorite lists, no matter how many tens he tipped.   
  
“Another wonderfully tempting offer, my dearest Alfred,” Francis chortled, pushing his hands through his hair and standing up from his graceful slouch, “Alas, I must forgo such…pleasures…and return home to the ball and chain before he cuts up my credit cards and threatens me with another lecture on proper finances. I’m afraid I must leave you to muddle through on your own, my pet.”   
  
“Francis, I love you, but don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” Alfred grumbled around a reluctant smile as he watched Arthur glare holes into the back of Francis’ pretty blond head while Francis waggled his fingers and his eyebrows, and mouthed, “Good luck!”   
  
Alfred bit back the desire to shout, “As if I need it,” and instead turned back to Arthur with a smile that was half apology and half invitation, hoping they could pick each other up now that Francis had left off.   
  
Arthur blinked slowly, lashes brushing the circles beneath his eyes like he was trying to be just a little coy, like he wanted to make sure Alfred was watching when he slid his hand palm up across the bar and murmured, “If its still on offer, I’d like to try something good and American.”   
  
Alfred grinned and touched two fingers to that upturned hand, let them walk down a pulse that raced just as sweetly as it did on Wednesday night. Arthur smiled at him in return and Alfred dipped his free hand below the bar, grabbing two tumblers and setting them on either side of Arthur’s wrist.   
  
“Well, then…how about a little bourbon on the rocks for now?” Alfred said lowly, already half-drunk and half-hard from the thirst in Arthur’s stare. He licked his lips and went for broke, “And then a shot of me when I get off at two?”   
  
Arthur pushed up and stole a kiss from the corner of Alfred’s surprised mouth, whispering, “Put it on my tab.”


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Arthur opened his mouth to lick Alfred’s ear and murmur, _“So, do you often take your work home with you?,”_ Alfred’s hands were half-way down Arthur’s pants and the lips that scored down his throat were slick and red from Alfred’s kisses. It was 2:45am and Alfred was sure he hadn’t been this awake in years, back pressed against the front door that had just been loudly slammed closed by the weight of Alfred’s body pinned beneath Arthur’s insistent hips and arms and the thigh between his legs. Arthur’s stomach trembled under the wandering of his fingers, slipping higher and higher up the sweet planes of a chest still hidden by too many clothes, nipples peaked and firm between the twist and roll of Alfred’s fingers, every inch of Arthur going hard for his touch.   
  
Alfred grinned against the filthy slide of Arthur’s lips over his own possessive teeth sinking into the fullness of his smile and tugging while a palm splayed over his crotch and rubbed.  Alfred’s cock had been ready to go since the second Matthew rolled his eyes, flicked off the lights of the Libertine Lounge and Arthur pulled him over the bar by the length of his tie and sucked his tongue into a mouth that burned like smoke and tasted like bourbon.   
  
“Its been know to happen a time or two,” Alfred breathed over the flush of Arthur’s cheek, rocking into the hand that cupped and squeezed his cock through his pants. Arthur laughed lowly, bit him again and Alfred knew he was going to look in the mirror in the morning to find his lips all stung and chapped with lingering marks of Arthur’s appreciation.   
  
“With a face like that I’m not surprised.” Arthur muttered, amusement rumbling through his chest and into Alfred’s.   
  
“Are you trying to say you think I’m hot, Artie?” Alfred gripped the bottom of Arthur’s nice green shirt and wrestled it over his head, smiling shamelessly as he dipped to lick the ridge of some pretty nice collarbones and his tongue around Arthur’s nipple. Arthur arched between the splay of his hands, his moan dirty, wet, and needy like a vodka martini at 5pm on a weekday afternoon. Alfred gave him a little more, spiced it up by sliding his lips and his body down, down, down until his mouth was at the metal of Arthur’s belt buckle and there were fingers in his hair.   
  
Arthur stared at him, wide-eyed and hot flushed, the muscles of his arms rigid and taut as they pushed Alfred’s head back just enough so he could see the tickling swallow of Arthur’s throat each time he whispered his fingers over the curve of Arthur’s cock. 

  
“You already claim to be the best at so many things,” Arthur teased, brushing the hat-flattened hair from Alfred’s forehead with a smirk, “I don’t see why I should contribute to making your substantial ego grow even larger.”   
  
Alfred laughed and loosened Arthur’s belt, kissing the jut of his hip. “You’ve confessed to liking my cocktails, so you might as well go ahead and confess to liking me.”   
  
“Perhaps I just like the service you provide.” Arthur said dryly, though the sweetness of his tiny smile and the sound of his sigh when Alfred unzipped his pants betrayed his feeble attempts at denying that he wasn’t totally hot for what Alfred had on tap. Arthur shimmied out of the pants that pooled around his ankles and at Alfred’s feet, the gray cotton of his underwear stretched over his cock.   
  
“I am damned good.” Alfred mouthed the head of Arthur’s cock through his underwear, tasting salt and making him wet and messy before he’d even really touched him. Arthur pulled his hair and pushed his hips into Alfred’s face, and Alfred wondered how he knew that Arthur was going to be like his—bossy, certain, and demanding—just like when he snapped out his drink orders and expected Alfred to live up to the hype. The thought made him smile, made him part his lips and drag down Arthur’s underwear to press a single kiss to tip of his cock. “So, what can I do for you tonight?”  
  
Arthur’s hips canted forward, his cock rubbing against Alfred’s cheek and over his mouth. Alfred licked the thumb that Arthur slipped between his lips and grinned when Arthur groaned, “I’ll have the house special, please.”   
  
“For you, baby, I’m going to make it a double,” Alfred promised, swallowing the head of Arthur’s cock and steadying the sudden thrust of his hips with the splay his hands on Arthur’s waist. He liked this part, the newness of figuring how just how someone liked it—how much pressure to give when he slid his mouth down Arthur’s shaft, how to use his fingers between Arthur’s legs, teasing and testing. He liked the first taste on his tongue and he liked learning the way Arthur’s voice sounded when he gave a little twist and flick, or when he downed him like a shot, hot and burning in the back of his throat. He liked Arthur heavy and hard on his tongue, liked the way his hips wouldn’t stay still, liked the Arthur pulled his hair and murmured his name.   
  
“You certainly earn your keep,” Arthur moaned, palm slapping against the door as he bent over almost double. Alfred licked the inside of his thigh and stroked his slick shaft, burying his laughter in Arthur’s warm skin.   
  
“You’re a good customer.” Alfred whispered roughly, titling his head back to wink at Arthur. He traced his fingers over Arthur’s balls and mouthed the base of his cock, brushing his thumb over Arthur’s ass and pressing just a little, feel the tight spread of Arthur’s body over the tip of his finger. Arthur shivered and wiggled his hips like he wanted more and Alfred was all about making his guests happy, so he slipped his finger further inside while kissing his way up Arthur’s cock to flattening tongue against the tremble of Arthur’s stomach. Arthur’s cock was wet and hard against his neck and Arthur was peering down at him with lust in his eyes and frustrated threats on the verge of spilling from his throat. Alfred dipped his tongue into Arthur’s navel and hummed.   
  
“So, what else can I get you tonight?”   
  
Arthur tugged at Alfred’s hair, threaded and messy between his fingers, as he growled, “You can damned well finish what you started.”   
  
Alfred grinned and surged to his feet, holding Arthur’s face between his hands and kissing him deeply, letting him taste the salt of his pleasure from Alfred’s tongue. Arthur ripped at his shirt, tugged at his tie, their feet tangling together as Alfred tried to remember the way to his own bathroom when all the blood in his brain was rushing south, south, south and Arthur was groaning into his mouth.   
  
“Are you going to get naked and fuck me sometime tonight, do you think?” Arthur taunted, blinking into the harsh light that flickered over the bathroom mirror, grasping Alfred by the belt loops and pulling until he was backed against the vanity and rocking into Alfred’s hip. Alfred sucked on his earlobe and nodded desperately, pushing into the fingers that slipped into his pants and circled the tip of his cock, spreading the wetness that had been there since his first taste of Arthur’s skin. “Yes, that’s right. You’ll give me anything I want, won’t you?”   
  
Alfred stepped away, tearing off what remained of his clothing after Arthur’s rushed attack, catching the shape of his grin in the mirror as he licked his lips and promised, “Yeah, I’ll definitely give it to you.” He crowded into the lewd spread of Arthur’s legs, rubbing their cocks together and licking the sweat that beaded down Arthur’s jaw, “I’ll mix it up strong and sweet for you. Make you drunk on me.”   
  
“Do it,” Arthur commanded, keeping his eyes open as Alfred kissed him breathless, dirty, messy and so good Alfred had to squeeze his cock to keep from coming over Arthur’s stomach. Arthur’s smirk slipped over his smile and Arthur’s wicked fingers curled around his own, stroking him just to make Alfred’s life really damned difficult.   
  
“Yes, hell yes.”Alfred dipped his head to bite at Arthur’s shoulder, struggling to maintain his composure long enough to turn Arthur within the span of his arms so that he was confronted with the arching line of Arthur’s back and the shiver of his skin when Alfred licked a trail down his spine and over the spread of his shoulderblades.  With fumbling fingers he opened one of the drawers for what he needed—the slick of lube and the crinkle of foil.    
  
He watched the mirror fog as Arthur splayed his hands on the marble counter and came noisily undone around the push and crook of Alfred’s fingers sliding into his body. He listened to the rasp of Arthur’s voice and thought of Scotch, thought of the taste of Arthur that was all bitter-salt addiction. Arthur pushed into his shamelessly, greedy and bossy in his wordless commands for more, telling Alfred exactly how he wanted it just like he dictated the liquors in his drinks and made Alfred work for every flutter of his eyelashes and each damned smile.   
  
“Anytime now,” Arthur gritted out, reaching out with one hand to wipe the fog from the mirror and let Alfred see the taunting curve of his smirk.   
  
Alfred shook his head and leaned forward to kiss the hollow of his neck, murmuring, “Sometimes you have to let a man do his damned job,” before he slapped his hand over the sweetness of Arthur’s ass, the crack of it echoing so pretty off his bathroom walls.   
  
Arthur scrambled at the glass with startled fingers, eyes going gratifyingly wide when Alfred spanked him again and sank his teeth into the hard ridge of Arthur’s shoulder. Alfred chuckled and soothed the sting of his bite with gentle lips as he rolled the condom on his cock and teased Arthur with slow rock and roll between his thighs.   
  
“More, damn you.” Arthur cursed, groaned and shoved against him.   
  
“Bossy,” Alfred whispered, taking his cock in hand and pushing slowly inside, letting Arthur open around him, hot, tight, and just wet enough to make it almost impossible not to come before he’d even gotten inside. Arthur exhaled, dropped his head and then Alfred was fully flush within him, caught within the clench of Arthur’s body while he kissed the back of his neck and nuzzled his hair. “I like it.”   
  
Arthur twisted his head to meet him in a messy kiss, lips slipping over Alfred’s tongue and teeth clacking together because the angle was no good but it felt wrong not to be kissing, kissing, kissing when he was so deep inside the hot skin of their thighs was stuck together. Alfred opened his eyes to see how they looked together in the mirror, wrecked and dirty and shaken up like a really good drink after a really long day.   
  
Arthur abandoned the kiss, lips stained and bitten as he hung his head and moaned. Alfred kissed his shoulder and spread his hands on Arthur’s hips, starting to fuck him in earnest because he wanted to make Arthur happy, wanted to give him what they both wanted, bottoming out on each thrust and driven a little crazy but the filthy noises coming out of Arthur’s mouth. It was late and he didn’t know what Arthur did for a living or where he was from that gave him such a damned sexy voice, but Alfred knew that they mixed well together, knew that he wanted to know what Arthur liked whether it was how he took his martinis or how he wanted Alfred to circle his fingers around his cock and stroke.   
  
He stroked Arthur in time with the slip and slide of his cock in and out of Arthur’s body, keeping pace with the wicked roll of Arthur’s hips and trying to hold it together long enough to get Arthur there first. Alfred spread his legs a little wider and changed the angle of his thrusts, shallow jolts to make Arthur’s eyes flutter shut and to make his mouth fall open, breathless and needy. Alfred bit his lip and prayed for mercy, flicking his thumb over the head of Arthur’s cock and driving in hard and fast, gratified when Arthur stiffened, shouted and came hot and sticky over his fingers. The tight clench of his body and the reflection of Arthur falling apart, all mussed and desperate had Alfred falling over the edge, collapsing against the arch of Arthur’s back and coming in a sudden, wild rush that left his thighs shaking and his heart racing so fast he thought it might break.   
  
“Well,” Alfred panted, kissing the shell of Arthur’s ear and liking the way he still shivered, “I hope everything was to your liking.”   
  
Arthur laughed, a long, rough exhalation of lulled pleasure, “I’m a satisfied customer.”   
  
Alfred smiled and gathered Arthur against his chest, sticky and tangled and perfect for all that it was 4am on Saturday morning and he could feel exhaustion creeping beneath his skin. “In that case, I hope you’ll consider coming back for more.”   
  
Arthur pinched his bottom and kissed him sweetly, murmuring, “The next round’s on me.”


End file.
